


Drunk Tuesdays

by TruFaith



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:09:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1492822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruFaith/pseuds/TruFaith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drunk Tuesdays is a tradition the four of them started a little over three years ago not long after they had all moved to New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk Tuesdays

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I'm finally moving over some old stuff from LJ and FFN.
> 
> I wrote this (in which I totally called Pezberry waiting tables together :p) right after Mash Off back in season 3 so it completely ignores canon after that point.

 

“Remember that time you slapped Finn? That was awesome.”

Santana snickers as she walks into the living room and over to the loveseat to hand Quinn a beer before taking her place beside Brittany on the far left side of the couch.

“Yeah. Remember that time right after I slapped him when Brit told me to just let it go, ‘it’s not worth it, Santana’ and then slapped him her damn self?” Santana looks over toward Brittany with an accusing smirk and a raised eyebrow but the girl just grins back at her.

“Good times,” Brittany responds with a slow head nod and takes a drink from her beer while Quinn giggles at them both, the two beers she’s already had making her giggle a little louder and a little longer than usual.

“I _still_ cannot figure out why you dumbasses were so hung up on him.” Santana leans back into the couch and rests her feet up on the coffee table. “I mean . . . . just . . . . . what?” She shakes her head and Quinn just shrugs.

“I dunno, ask Rach. She put way more effort into snagging him than I did.” Santana considers this for a moment and tilts her head in agreement.

“Rachel!” she yells toward the hallway to her right.

“What?” Rachel yells back from the other side of the bathroom door.

“Stop doing whatever weirdness you’re doing in my bathroom and come in here!” Rachel opens the door and walks down the hallway throwing Santana a half-hearted glare.

“I was fixing my eyeliner, thank you very much.” She tells Santana as she picks up her glass from the coffee table and sits on the loveseat beside Quinn. Santana rolls her eyes. Drunk Tuesdays is a tradition the four of them started a little over three years ago not long after they had all moved to New York for college. Their hectic schedules between school and jobs and second jobs and the stress of being truly on their own for the first time was starting to drive them all a little crazy. So Rachel had decided that they needed to set aside one night a week that had nothing to do with school or work to just stay in and gossip, or watch terrible reality TV, and be silly, normal girls for the sake of their sanity. Santana had agreed under the condition that there would be plenty of alcohol involved and absolutely no Broadway show tunes.

“You’re ridiculous,” Santana informs her as she takes a drink. Santana, Brittany, and Quinn always go extreme casual for Drunk Tuesdays; yoga pants, old t-shirts, and ponytails. Rachel, on the other hand, is wearing black stylishly clunky boots, dark jeans with a black belt, a white button-down collared shirt, black square framed glasses, light make-up and _earrings for Christ's sake_ , and perfectly wavy, shiny hair.

When they all moved to New York Santana was shocked to find out that Rachel Berry actually had a really good sense of style. So, once she was finally away from a Dad who insisted on buying all of her clothing because ‘he took a semester of fashion back at OSU’ and old aunts and grandmothers who sent her dozens of ‘the most adorable sweaters’, she made it her mission to _always_ look good.

“You’re just jealous that you’re not the hottest one in the group anymore,” Rachel says with a smirk as she takes a long drink of her White Russian and Santana scoffs.

“In your dreams are you hotter than me.”

“Uh-huh,” Rachel says skeptically and chuckles when Santana responds with her middle finger.

“You’re totally hotter than her, babe” Quinn whispers in her ear as she drapes her left arm over the back of the couch behind Rachel and kisses her on the cheek.

“Thank you,” Rachel says with a grin before turning back to Santana. “So why exactly were you yelling at me?”

“So that we could ask you what the hell it was about Finn Hudson that made you throw yourself at him constantly and with such sad desperation.” Santana grins widely and Brittany laughs.

“Remember when she made that Team Finn shirt and wore it to all his games?” Brittany says with another giggle. Santana laughs as she takes a drink and Rachel scowls at both of them.

“I might have been . . . . a little more . . . _enthusiastic_ than was absolutely necessary at times,” Santana snorts under her breath and Rachel rolls her eyes. “Whatever, he was my first boyfriend and I was young and much more dramatic back then. I mean it was high school.”

“Oh, are we still supposed to be pretending that we didn’t see that Team Quinn shirt in your apartment a few months ago?” Brittany asks and Quinn and Santana both laugh.

“That was a gag gift from Kurt! You know what, screw you both. You too, traitor,” Rachel aims the last part at Quinn with an elbow to the side as she stands up.

“Aw, come on, I’m sorry, baby. Sit back down.” Quinn reaches for Rachel’s hand, still giggling a little, but Rachel moves out of her reach.

“I’m going into the kitchen to make myself another drink,” she announces to the room. “While I’m gone I’d like all of you to think about your blatant mistreatment of me and maybe come up with some shiny, gift-type ideas to remedy it.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love our torture,” Santana says with a slap to Rachel’s leg as she passes and Rachel sticks out her tongue in response. “Classy. Hey, bring some more beers when you come back.”

“Heard,” Rachel yells over her shoulder as she rounds the corner into the kitchen, a habit that they both picked up from their shared waitressing job through freshman and sophomore year. Santana grins and shakes her head before turning her attention back to the living room.

“God, sometimes I forget how ‘high strung, drama queen’ she was in high school,” Santana says and Quinn nods in agreement.

“Right? _Thank God_ that passed.” Santana and Brittany laugh and Quinn grins. “I mean, not like it was absolutely _terrible_  or anything, just . . . . . _exhausting_ ,” she elaborates with an eye roll.

“Yeah, it’s a wall, Quinn, not a soundproof barrier,” Rachel yells from the kitchen and Quinn freezes as her eyes dart to the wall like Rachel might be able to magically see her through it too.

“Love you!” Quinn finally yells a few seconds later still frozen in place and Santana and Brittany laugh again.

“So why were you randomly thinking of that humongous douche nozzle anyway?” Santana asks Quinn after a minute.

“I dunno. While you were in the kitchen me and Brit were…” the two blondes exchange a secretive look and Santana furrows her brow in suspicion, “talking and –”

“Talking about what?” Santana’s eyes flick back and forth between the two, who both look like they’re trying not to smile.

“We were talking about how much I love you,” Brittany says with a silly grin as she crawls over the couch toward Santana, “and how lucky I am that you’re mine.” Santana can’t help the small grin that pulls at her lips when Brittany leans in for a quick kiss.

“Yeah, nice try. You aren’t foolin’ anybody.” Santana smirks at Brittany when she pulls back but Brittany’s grin turns sincere.

“I’m serious,” she says quietly. Her eyes slowly trace over Santana’s face with a hint of awe in them as her right hand comes up to drawn slow lines back and forth over Santana’s cheek. Santana is pulled into her, like gravity, like always, forgetting everything else. “Sometimes I still wake up scared when you’re not there,” she whispers and Santana’s heart breaks a little. More than once in the few months after they’d moved out of Lima and into their New York apartment Santana had woken up before Brittany and gone into the kitchen to start breakfast or into the living room to work on something for school only to hear Brittany calling out for her in a panic a few minutes later. She would rush into the bedroom and Brittany would fly off the bed and throw her arms around her like a vice, tearfully confessing that she’d thought maybe all the good stuff was a dream and Santana was really gone and she was alone.

“Britt,” Santana breathes out almost painfully as she leans forward to rest their foreheads together. She stares into the girl’s eyes for a few seconds, trying to somehow show her all the emotions that she still has trouble saying out loud most days, before she brings their lips together again. Quinn, who had been watching the sweet exchange with her grin firmly in place, quickly busies herself with her phone, trying to give the girls as much privacy as she can from ten feet away.

“Oooh, is it make out time already?” Rachel asks as she enters the living room and Quinn’s head snaps up to look at her with a smirk.

“YES,” she says a little too excitedly and Rachel giggles, “Yes, it is.” Rachel sits the drinks down on the coffee table and slinks over to Quinn, crawling onto the couch with a knee on either side of her hips and her arms circling around the girl’s neck.

“Hi, baby,” she whispers as she leans closer and Quinn smiles widely as her eyes quickly scan Rachel’s face.

“Hi, Gorgeous.” Quinn stretches her neck up to kiss Rachel who leans down into her, nearly pinning her against the back of the couch.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Santana yells a few seconds later and Quinn groans as Rachel slowly pulls away. “There’s no mounting on Drunk Tuesday!” Rachel giggles and rests her head on Quinn’s shoulder, placing a few quick kisses to her neck before slowly sliding off of her girlfriend and settling beside her again.

“You guys started it,” Rachel says matter-of-factly and Santana shakes her head.

“Uh, no. We were totally PG over here while you two were practically grinding it out and molesting my couch.” Rachel rolls her eyes.

“And I’m the drama queen,” she mutters to Quinn as she scoots forward and reaches for her drink. Quinn slowly rubs a hand back and forth across her back and Rachel takes a few seconds to just savor the feeling before finally leaning back and letting Quinn drape her arm over her shoulders again. “So why was there making out? What did I miss?”

“What do you mean why?” Santana raises an eyebrow. “We’s two hot bitches, do we need any other reason to make out than that?” Rachel half shrugs her shoulders and Brittany laughs.

“Fair enough. But why were you asking me about Finn earlier? I mean I haven’t even thought about Finn Hudson in years.”

“Your girl brought him up.” Santana grabs a beer off the table and twists the top off before handing it to Brittany who smiles and pecks her on the cheek. Rachel looks at Quinn curiously.

“Britt was talking about her and Santana and it just kinda got me thinking about how they got started,” Quinn explains as she leans over and kisses Rachel on the top of the head, “how we all got started.” Rachel smiles and leans into Quinn as she looks over at Santana. Santana doesn’t notice Rachel’s smile though, as she takes a long drink and her eyes lose focus staring somewhere across the room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

*****************************

 

 

 

_Santana ran blindly from Coach Sylvester’s office. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t fucking see past the tears rushing from her eyes. She ran for what felt like days, until her adrenaline finally started to give out and her legs felt like lead. She ducked into a nearby bathroom and leaned heavily against the door, gulping in air and trying to calm the panicked scatter of thoughts running through her head. She realized then that she had no idea when this stupid fucking commercial was supposed to run. It could be two weeks from now or the goddamn thing could be paused on her living room TV by the time she got home. She considered grabbing Britt and just driving somewhere, anywhere for a few days just to get the hell away from the shitstorm that was about to come crashing down around her. But they’d have to come home eventually and taking off would just make everything even worse._

_As her breathing finally leveled and her mind started to clear she thought 'fuck it'. If today might be her last chance to be the bitchy, superior,_ normal _Santana Lopez she’d been perfecting all these years then she would go out on that stage and play the hell out of her part. She quickly checked her appearance in the mirror, took a few deep breaths, which still came out a bit shakier than she would’ve liked, and headed for the music room._

_She pushed the door open and immediately made eye contact with Brittany across the room. Brittany, who just smiled at her widely with love in her eyes, and Santana broke in two. Just the sight of the girl felt like a physical blow and suddenly the tears were back and she found herself fighting for oxygen again. She barely had time to register the concern on Brittany’s face before she turned and bolted out the door. She only made it a few feet this time before she collapsed against a row of lockers and crumpled down to the floor._

_“San?” She heard Brittany jog over to her but she couldn’t even muster the strength to look up at her. “San. Honey, what’s wrong?” Brittany wound an arm around her shoulders and pulled Santana’s head into her chest and her other hand gently stroked Santana’s hair as the sobs started. Santana moved just enough to bury her face in Brittany’s neck and threw her arms around her tightly. Brittany pressed a kiss to her temple then moved her lips toward Santana’s ear. “Shh, you’re okay now, I’m here. I’ve got you, San.”_

_Brittany threaded an arm under Santana’s knees and she was suddenly being lifted off the ground. Brittany took her down the hall into some abandoned classroom and shut the door with her hip. She walked over to the teacher’s desk and sat in the rolling chair behind it, readjusting her hold on Santana so the girl was sitting sideways in her lap. It was a few minutes before Santana could speak and Brittany just held her, whispering comforting words in her ear and wishing that the words were enough._

_“It’s all over,” Santana breathed into Brittany’s neck._

_“What’s over, Hun?” Santana leaned back enough to look at Brittany._

_“_ Everything _.” She looked up toward the ceiling and took a deep breath as she felt her tears trying to come back again._

_“San.” Brittany moved a hand up to Santana’s cheek, guiding Santana’s eyes back to her. “What happened?” Santana sighed and tore her eyes away from Brittany as she tried to stop the whole thing from playing over again in her head._

_“Finn.” She nearly growled the word out. “He…” it’s like she was right back in that moment, the fear washed through her, the absolute fucking dread at hearing him yell those words at her through a crowded hall. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything to take it back or make him_ stop fucking talking _. She’d just stood there terrified and completely paralyzed by it. “He told everyone. Just . . . . just yelled it down the hall like it was nothing.”_

_“Yelled what?” Brittany asked after a few seconds of silence from Santana, and it snapped her out of the memory. She brought her eyes back to Brittany’s and the tears flooded back as a sudden realization caused her stomach to sink to the floor. She was going to lose her. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Brittany’s voice was quiet and soothing as she brushed the new tears from Santana’s cheeks. “It’s gonna be okay, I’m right here.” The words just made Santana cry harder._

_“No, he told everyone, Britt. It’s in this stupid com – commercial against Sue and, and now . . . now they’re all gonna know.” She could barely pull enough air into her lungs to get the words out but she couldn’t seem to stop them from tumbling past her lips. “My parents, shit, my_ whole fucking family _, my neighbors, the people at my parent's church, the – the fuckin’ creepy guy at the video store, that old bitch waitress at Breadstix . . . . . everybody.”_

 _She took a few gulps of air and swiped roughly at her eyes trying to get rid of the tears that blocked her vision.  God, she_ hated _crying. It made her feel completely fucking helpless, and once she started it felt like it was damn near impossible to get herself back under control. She blinked a few times and her eyes finally cleared enough so that she could actually see Brittany again. The girl just stared back at her with tears swimming in her own eyes. She looked like Santana’s distress was actually causing her physical pain and Santana’s tears got a fifth wind._

 _She didn’t know what her parents were going to do when they found out. All she_ did _know was that it wouldn’t be good. That her father would be fucking_ heartbroken _and her abuela would_ never _be able to look at her without shame and disappointment again. But the one thing she was_ sure _of was that they would take Brittany away from her. They’d put her on lockdown, maybe even send her to that private school two counties over. But whatever they decided to do they’d make damn sure Brittany had no part in it. Her mother had always been wary of Brittany, of how close the two of them were; ‘that girl is a bad influence, Niña'. They would blame her. And they’d take her away._

 _“Fuck!” she gritted the word out under her breath as she slammed her eyes shut and dropped her head to Brittany’s shoulder. It wasn’t supposed to be like this! It wasn’t supposed to happen now! She was supposed to have another fucking year! Just one more year and then she and Britt would be settled in their own life somewhere hundreds of miles away from this fucking place where no one would care if they held hands at the movies, or stole a quick kiss at the park, or if Santana wrapped her arms around Brittany and kissed her while they were waiting in line at the grocery store just because she_ couldn’t fucking stand not too _._

_Just one more year and then she wouldn’t have to go through all this alone. Her parents could’ve screamed and yelled, they could throw things at her and even disown her if they fucking liked. And it all would’ve been okay because Brittany would’ve stood beside her the entire time, one hand tangled in Santana’s and the other slowly rubbing calming circles on the small of her back._

_And then, once it was over, once all the curses were thrown and the tears were shed, she and Brittany would leave. They would go to_ their home _and things might not be okay exactly, but they would be manageable. Brittany would be there to pull her through it until things_ were _okay again. And they_ would be _okay, eventually. Because Santana was positive she could learn to live without everyone else if she had to, as long as she had Brittany. But now Finn_ fucking _Hudson had shot her entire plan to hell. And not only did she have to do it all alone, she didn’t even have time to prepare herself for it. To figure out what the hell she was going to say when her father asked her why she was doing this to her family, when her mother asked what she could’ve done so wrong for her only daughter to do this to her._

 _“It’s gonna be okay, San.” Brittany whispered the words into her ear as she gently kissed Santana’s temple. “We’ll get through this, I promise.” Santana took a shaky breath and leaned into Brittany a little more, tightening her arms around the girl’s waist. She was terrified that everyone was about to know, what they would all say, what the hell she was supposed to do now. But, if she was honest with herself, her biggest fear was that once all of this was over and the dust had finally settled Brittany wouldn’t be there, not like she was now, not like Santana_ needed _her to be._

 _She knew that she and Britt would always be best friends and that Brittany loved her. She just wasn’t sure if Brittany loved her in the same fierce, world-ending way that she loved Brittany. Santana had never been good with emotions, her own or anyone else’s. Every time she tried to actually ‘talk about her feelings’ it was like she didn’t have the air in her lungs to force them out. Like her jaw was wired shut, no matter how badly she wished it would just open and say all these words running through her head over and over. She just didn’t know how to ask Brittany if she loved her as much as Santana desperately needed her to love her. If she realized how_ fucking inadequate _Santana was and how many people there were out there that were just so much better._

 _She didn’t know how to ask Brittany to tell her what she needed to hear because she wasn’t even sure what that was herself. She just knew that Brittany was the kind of sweet, beautiful, wonderful girl that loved everyone. But she needed to know that Brittany loved her just a little bit more, that Brittany needed her even half as much as she needed Brittany. Santana slowly raised her head off of Brittany’s shoulder, her eyes a little cloudy from the tears that still hadn’t quite stopped, and she tried to say the words. She stared into Brittany’s eyes and tried like hell to force the words out of her mouth, to just say_ something _. But nothing happened. Brittany stared into her eyes for a few seconds, searching them for something, until finally she sighed as sadness washed over her face._

_“Santana.” She breathed out the word almost like she was scolding a young child. Santana dropped her gaze down to her lap as she quickly wiped at her eyes again. “Hey,” Brittany’s voice was still soft and Santana closed her eyes at the sound. “Santana, look at me. Please.” Santana took a deep breath before she brought her eyes back up to meet Brittany’s. Brittany gently ran a thumb over her cheek as her lips curled up into that half smile that was just one of a thousand Brittany-related reasons that Santana got up every morning._

_“I am_ so _in love with you, Santana Lopez.” All of the air rushed out of Santana’s chest and her eyes became a little more watery. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of her and she smiled back at Brittany. “I love every single thing about you. I love the way you move and the way you sing. I love how protective and loyal you are. I love how ghetto you get sometimes when you’re trying to get attention.” Santana laughed and Brittany smiled even wider. “I_ love _your laugh, it’s like . . . . magic. I can’t get enough of it. I love how silly and dorky you can be when there’s no one else around. I love how you get just a little bit jealous when a guy even looks at me. I love how whenever I’m upset you hold me and whisper to me in Spanish and, even though I don’t understand half of the stuff you say, it always calms me down and makes me feel better. I love how strong and good you are.” Santana closed her eyes and a tear rolled down each cheek but Brittany was already wiping them away as she leaned down and rested her forehead against Santana’s. Brittany reached behind her and grabbed one of Santana’s hands, threading their fingers together as she brought their hands to sit in Santana’s lap between them._

 _“I love_ this _,” Brittany whispered as she gave Santana’s hand a squeeze, “This tingly feeling I get whenever you touch me, whenever you’re even near me. I love that sometimes when we’re sitting in class I can barely keep my hands off of you. I love that I think about you all the time, that I see you smiling at me every time I close my eyes.” A half sob bubbled up from Santana’s throat. “I love you so much, Santana, that sometimes, when I stop and think about it, I can barely even_ breathe _through all the love in my chest.” Brittany moved to place a lingering kiss on Santana’s forehead and then pulled back enough to look at the girl as Santana slowly opened her eyes. “I’ve waited for you for years, Santana Lopez. Sometimes I think maybe ever since the day I was born. So I’m not going anywhere.” She said the last part a little louder than the rest with an intensity in her eyes. “No matter what happens, San, I will_ always _be here, loving you, supporting you, waiting for you. Whatever you need.” Santana fully gave in to her tears again as she leaned forward to crash her lips against Brittany’s, trailing her hand up Brittany’s back to thread it through her hair. Santana’s kiss was desperate and needy but Brittany’s was calm and sure, and after a few seconds the kiss slowed until it was just lips slowly sliding past lips. Like they had all the time in the world._

_“I love you, Britt,” Santana whispered earnestly as she pulled away just enough to speak and look into Brittany’s eyes. She got lost in them for a moment, the pale bluish green that had always brought her comfort and strength and peace when nothing else could. “Maybe too much, I think.” Brittany just squeezed her hand again and smiled._

_“Me too.”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

*****************************

 

 

 

“San?” The sound of Brittany’s voice pulls Santana out of her thoughts and she turns her head to look at her. “You okay?” Her voice is soft and her eyes are concerned as she reaches out to run a hand down Santana’s arm.

“Yeah,” Santana answers with a small smile and a nod, “just thinking.” Brittany grins back and accepts the answer. Santana downs the rest of her beer before announcing that she’s going for refills and heading into the kitchen. She throws her bottle into the recycling bin and uses both hands to lean heavily on the counter in front of her, trying to shake the memory from her head.

“Whatcha doin’, Weirdo?” Rachel’s voice floats to her ears from the doorway behind her and Santana grins at the familiar nickname.

“Nothin’, Spaz.” Santana turns around with her grin still in place and Rachel laughs lightly. It’s strange, this friendship between them, when Santana stops to think about it. If you’d told her five years ago that one day she’d be close friends with Rachel Berry she probably would’ve died laughing. And then insulted your mother. But after the ‘bitchslap heard round the world’, while Santana was waiting in the hallway for Brittany, trying to compose herself and stop her tears for the twentieth time that day, Rachel Berry had come to check on her. Instead of staying to defend the boy she’d been chasing after for nearly three years against what was apparently some _terrifying_ wrath from Brittany, Rachel had gone to check on the girl who’d tormented her for too long for either of them to remember.

Santana had been intrigued by it the second she saw her. But of course she’d just said ‘fuck off, Berry’, not even having the energy to come up with anything more clever, and turned away from her. But Rachel didn’t leave. She’d walked around in front of Santana and said "Look, I know we’re not friends. And I know you don’t particularly want to be. But if there’s anyone who knows what it’s like to be looked at like a freak for no reason, to be constantly whispered about, or just insulted right to your face, it’s me. Trust me; you’re going to need people beside you now. And as amazing as Brittany is, one person won’t be enough. So any time you want to talk, or scream, or cry, or just not be alone, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here to listen and I’ll never judge you, I promise.” It was the only one of Rachel’s one thousand unnecessary speeches that Santana had actually listened to or remembered. She had finally looked at Rachel then, searching for some malice or ulterior motive, but she couldn’t see any. Then Rachel had smiled at her and just walked away.

Things between them were different after that. A few days later when Santana halfheartedly insulted Rachel in the hall, the other girl had just come back with a teasing insult of her own and a smirk. Santana had been frozen in place for what might’ve been a full minute, just staring slack jawed at the place where there must’ve been a rip in the fucking space-time continuum or some shit. After that, once Rachel had dumped Finn for good and gotten accepted to NYADA, she had surprisingly mellowed out a lot. And somehow by graduation they’d become something like actual friends. But they hadn’t really become close until their freshman year of college when they’d both gotten a job waiting tables at the same cheap diner a few blocks from Santana and Brittany’s apartment.

It turns out that hours and hours of waiting on difficult assholes until two in the morning will go a long way in strengthening your weird amicable bond with a former rival. She and Rachel could banter like she used to do with Quinn without the chance of it going too far or becoming too competitive, because apparently Rachel’s stupid little smirk was Santana’s freaking kryptonite. And Rachel was a surprisingly good listener, so when Santana had a problem that she didn’t want to bother Brittany with, or when talking to Brittany _was_ her problem, she found herself turning to Rachel.

“Really? Because it looked like you were brooding.” Her attention is pulled back to the present to a Rachel who is currently doing her best mocking, sad puppy imitation and Santana laughs.

“Well, whatever I was doing I hope to hell it didn’t look like that.” Rachel raises her middle finger in Santana’s direction and Santana sticks out her tongue as she turns and walks toward the fridge, getting another beer for herself and grabbing the thousand bottles Rachel will need for her White Russian. “I don’t know why you always have to cram all this shit back in here every damn time.”

“Because it tastes better when it’s cold,” Rachel says simply as she grabs the measuring spoons from a drawer and starts portioning everything out into her glass. Santana shakes her head as she twists the top off of her beer.

“You know, I’ll be done with this beer by the time you get that damn science experiment figured out.”

“And while you’re choking down the vile taste of your _next_ beer, I’ll be happily sipping on my delicious drink. Bitch.”

“Pansy.” Rachel giggles, never once looking away from the drink she’s mixing and Santana grins as she leans against the counter beside her.

“I’m so _freaking excited_!” they hear Quinn half yell from the living room and they both slowly lean back enough to look curiously at Brittany through the kitchen doorway. The girl just gives them a sheepish grin and shrugs before pointing to Quinn and mouthing ‘she’s crazy’ as she circles a finger in the air beside her ear.

“Hey!” Quinn objects.

“Quiet, woman!” Brittany yells as she turns her attention back to Quinn and Santana and Rachel just shake their heads.

“So,” Rachel starts a few seconds later, finally mixing all the ingredients of her drink together, “the hell’s going on with you?” Santana raises an eyebrow and wonders if Rachel snuck in a shot or two when she wasn’t looking.

“Nothing,” Santana tries again but Rachel just turns to give Santana her ‘you know I know you’re lying so cut the shit’ glare and Santana sighs. “Fine. I was just thinking about high school –”

“Ugh. Gross,” Rachel interrupts and Santana breathes out a quiet laugh.

“I mean I was thinking about me and Brit back then, and it’s like . . . . . I mean, I’m awesome, I know that. Like a fine wine, I only get _more awesome_ with age.”

“Okay…” Rachel raises an eyebrow and waits for some dots to connect.

“But, I’m also…” Santana drops her head, scratching at the label on her bottle.

“Also what?”

“Not enough, maybe.” Santana says the words quietly without looking up and she hears Rachel sigh. “I might be awesome, but Brit, she’s…” Santana peels a strip from her label, looking for the right words before looking back up at Rachel. “She’s perfect, Rach. I mean, _perfect_.” Rachel grins at Santana but the grin she gets in return is laced with just the smallest bit of sadness. “And it’s just like,” Santana breaks the eye contact to stare back at the bottle in her hands, “every now and then I just, I get this crazy fear out of nowhere that one day she’ll realize it. And then she’ll wonder what the hell she’s doing with somebody like me. And I won’t even have a convincing argument for her because I've been wondering the same damn thing myself for years.” Rachel stays still and silent while Santana figures out how to say whatever’s running through her head, having learned over the years exactly how to approach Santana’s rare vulnerable moments. “Do you know what I’m trying to say?” Santana finally chances a look back up at Rachel, whose expression is completely blank.

“No.” Santana’s lips pull into a thin line as she slowly nods her head.

“Great.” Rachel continues to stare for a second before finally throwing a _very_ exaggerated eye roll in Santana’s direction.

“ _Of course_ I know what you’re talking about, Weirdo. _All humans_ know what you’re talking about.” Rachel shrugs her shoulders up as her arm sweeps through the air in front of her in some sort of gesture toward, what Santana can only assume is, all mankind. “That feeling? I get it like once a week. On my worse days it’s like once an _hour_.” Rachel grabs all the bottles off the counter and moves toward the fridge.

“Yeah, but... you’re lame,” Santana says simply to Rachel’s back as she closes the refrigerator door and turns back around.

“Fuck off, I’m being serious now.” Rachel points a finger and a raised eyebrow in Santana’s direction.

“Sassy,” Santana mutters, deciding that Rachel definitely threw back some secret shots during one of her kitchen trips. Rachel steps forward, places a hand on both of Santana’s shoulders, and calmly looks her in the eye.

“Everyone feels like that sometimes, Santana. Even Quinn 'better than all you bitches' Fabray, and yes, _even Brittany_." She waits just a moment for her words to sink in. "So stop whining about it.” Rachel finishes with an over-the-top smile and a light slap to Santana left cheek before moving past her and grabbing her drink from the counter. Santana’s jaw drops a little, her head still slightly angled from the small force of Rachel’s slap.

“Wait a minute.” She slowly rotates around to face Rachel. “Did _Rachel fucking Berry_ just tell _me_ to stop being so dramatic?” Rachel gives her another blank stare as she sniffs and pushes her glasses back up her nose.

“Yep,” she says simply before turning to leave the room and Santana slowly follows after her.

“What is _happening_?”

 

 

 

 

 

*****************************

 

 

 

“I love drunk Quinn, she’s so giggly.”

“And yet stoned Quinn is always so weirdly serious.” Brittany laughs, burrowing back into her girlfriend a little more, and Santana tightens the arm slung around her waist. After making sure Rachel and Quinn had safely stumbled into a cab giggling at 1 a.m., Brittany and Santana had trudged back up the stairs to their apartment. They'd looked around at all the little wooden blocks scattered across their entire living room floor, courtesy of an impromptu Jenga game that had turned into the girls teaming up and launching the blocks across the room at each other, and collapsed on the couch for some mindless tv.

“I’m glad that we’re all still friends," Brittany says a few moments later. "And that one of our other friends isn’t dead and blackmailing us from the creepy grave.” Santana breathes out a laugh against the back of Brittany’s neck.

“I _knew_ you were Netflixing Pretty Little Liars earlier when I called.”

“I can’t help it, that show is like crack, I’m simply a victim.”

“Uh-huh.” Brittany can feel Santana’s smile as she presses her lips to the side of her neck, causing that warm fuzziness that she’s come to refer to as ‘Santana Tingles’ over the years to crackle across her skin.

“I _do_ wish that Spencer was one of our friends though.”

“Hells yes.” The two girls lay in silence for a few minutes, half watching some old sitcom Santana can't even remember the name of, until she finally has to ask the question that’s been bouncing around in her head for hours. “So what were you and Quinn whispering about all night?” Santana feels Brittany take a deep breath. She grabs the remote and turns the tv off before rolling over onto her back and looking up at Santana. Her eyes slowly drift over Santana’s face, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“We were talking about whether you would be upset if I proposed instead of you.” Santana freezes for a second, just staring at Brittany until suddenly she’s smiling and laughing quietly.

“What?” she breathes out, her nose scrunching up and eyebrows furrowing together.

“Well, you know, sometimes _you_ wanna do certain stuff, but then _I_ pay for the movie tickets and then _you_ start mumbling in Spanish, which is _totally_ hot by the way, but also kinda confusing sometimes –”

“Okay, okay,” Santana cuts her off giggling, “I get it. I can, at times, be a little irrational.”

“Yes, that was quicker.” Santana laughs again.

“So," Santana grins, "you been thinkin’ about proposing to me, Brit?”

“Maybe,” Brittany says coyly. “Would you be upset if I did, San?” Brittany's voice is playful but there's a serious note underneath it. So Santana smiles down at her as she leans in for a slow but short kiss.

“No, babe,” she whispers, “I’d never be upset with you for that.”

“Good.” Brittany beams and suddenly the hand that was holding Santana’s on top of Brittany’s stomach is feeling around underneath the couch. “Because that didn’t even occur to me until I already got home and I’m pretty sure – where is..... Aha! – that jewelry store doesn’t do refunds.” As Brittany finishes her sentence she brings her arm back up to lie on her stomach like before, except now there’s a tiny blue felt box in her hand. All the air rushes out of Santana’s lungs as her entire world shrinks down to that little box that Brittany is now opening. The ring inside is gorgeous and kind of fucking _huge_ and she just stares at it until it starts to blur from the tears that quickly seem to be trying to fill her eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispers.

“You can just call me ‘Brittany’.” Santana grins and breathes out a laugh at the old joke that Brittany’s used for years.

“Okay,” Santana takes another deep breath and manages to pull her eyes away from the ring and to Brittany’s instead, “is this just like ‘look at the pretty new ring I got and plan to use sometime way in the future or…”

“It could be, if you want” Brittany tilts her head and her grin becomes a smile, “but I’d probably like it better if you just put it on and wore it now.” Again Santana’s lungs force a rush of air out past her lips and her vision gets a little cloudier. “Look, it’s no secret that I _kinda_ like you.” Santana laughs again.

“Oh yeah?”

“Just a little bit.” Brittany holds up a hand between them, her thumb and pointer finger just an inch apart. “And, like right now? Cuddling on the couch? I wanna do this for another sixty years. I wanna find your keys every morning when you lose them –”

“It’s not _every_ morning.”

“I wanna apologize to strangers on the street for your loud cursing, and order your coffee at Starbucks because you won’t learn any of their words –”

“Because it’s ridiculous, just call it a fucking large you prissy bitches.”

“And I want you to hold me _and_ a fully loaded Nerf gun every Halloween when we watch zombie movies, and make sure I don’t go to work with my shirt on inside out. I want to come home to rose petals and candles everywhere on a random Thursday night just because you love me and you wanted to.”

“I _am_ kind of awesome, huh?” Santana smirks and Brittany just leans toward her.

“Just a little bit,” she whispers as she brings their lips together. Brittany pulls away after a few seconds, resting her head back on the arm of the couch and smiling up at Santana as she waits for her girlfriend to open her eyes before she speaks again. “So?” Santana takes just a moment to look at Brittany. She imagines her dancing in her bra on top of some bar at their Bachelorette party, looking absolutely fucking _stunning_ in a gorgeous wedding dress, smiling and giggling as Santana yells in Spanish at their hyper, adorable children as they chase each other around the island in the kitchen of their beautiful old house somewhere out in the suburbs. Santana's heartbeat nearly doubles as she watches their perfect life flash in front of her eyes, and she doesn’t even try to fight the huge smile that comes with it. She pulls herself out of her daydream and back to Brittany, who’s still waiting for an answer, bottom lip held captive between her teeth and eyebrows nearly disappearing into her blonde hair.

“Like you even had to ask,” Santana whispers and Brittany squeals and tackles her as much as she can in their current position, her arms wrapping around Santana's neck and their lips crashing back together. Brittany pulls back and starts covering anywhere on Santana's face that she can reach with kisses. Santana giggles as she playfully bats her away.

“Jeez, Brit,” she laughs, “you’re like a puppy.”

“A puppy that’s now _engaged_ to her hot, smart, perfect, hilarious, gorgeous girlfriend.” Brittany’s smile is enormous and, as it turns out, extremely contagious. “Speaking on behalf of those of us that are me on the couch right now, we’re very excited.” Santana laughs again as she wraps herself completely around Brittany. They lie like that for just a second before Brittany speaks again. “Aw, crap. I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“The whole ‘ring’ part I was supposed to do when you said yes. It’s probably lost in the cushions forever now. Just like my lucky sock. And that sparkly blue strap-on.”

“We threw that last one away, Brit. Remember? We came home one day and Lord Tubbington was chewing on it and we both threw up in our mouths a little bit.”

“Oh, right. He’s _so_ gay.” Santana chuckles and leans forward to kiss Brittany only to nearly roll off the couch as Brittany suddenly stands up, spins around, and holds a hand out to her. Santana grins and raises a questioning eyebrow at her.

“Come one. It’s time for smokin' hot, engaged sex,” Brittany says simply as she grabs Santana hand, pulls her to her feet, and begins dragging her down the hallway toward their bedroom. _Engaged_ , Santana thinks with a goofy grin on her face, _I am fucking engaged to marry Brittany Pierce. The most perfect creature in the world wants to marry me._ Santana’s grin gets even larger as she picks up her pace, sweeping a laughing Brittany up off of her feet, and charging into the bedroom with her. She slams the door shut with her foot without even breaking stride like a fucking pro, only to have to open it again ten seconds later.

“Get out, you twat-swatting fur ball!” she whispers harshly to Lord Tubbington as he slowly exits the bedroom, “and I _loved_ that strap-on, asshat!” she adds before closing the door again. And locking it for good measure.

He leisurely makes his way to his food dish in the kitchen, thankful that his considerate human always leaves an open box of cereal on one of the kitchen chairs for him. Because he’s seen that look on the angry one’s face before and he’s pretty sure they won’t be coming out of there for days.


End file.
